


Cling to Me

by NuclearNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Smut, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik
Summary: It starts with a spark, a jolt of electricity each time his hand brushes hers.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 234
Collections: Dirty Festivus 2020





	Cling to Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shamione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamione/gifts).



The first time it happened, Harry had his hands around Hermione's waist, boosting her up to reach a book on the top shelf. She'd tugged him down yet another aisle to find just the right book for their study session, leaving their wands at the pockmarked table by the window in the Hogwarts library.

With her shirt bunched beneath his hands, the hem rose to reveal a strip of soft, smooth skin, and Harry's thumb brushed against her without intent.

A shimmer of electricity raced across his skin, all the way down to his toes. It reminded him of that feeling right before a crack of lightning splits the sky, when the air vibrates with energy so strong you feel it in your bones.

It was sudden and powerful, and the sharp little intake of breath from the witch in his grasp told him she'd felt it too.

She grabbed the book, and he eased her down, releasing her immediately—not because he didn't want to touch her, but because he _really_ wanted to touch her.

He wanted to touch more of her impossibly silky skin, trace it with his tongue, suck little love bruises into it, feel it underneath his fingertips.

_This is Hermione. She's your friend._

He repeated the words over and over to himself, hoping they'd stick, and this sudden rush to the surface of his normally well-hidden feelings would fade back to manageable levels.

When she finally turned to face him, knuckles going light from clutching the retrieved book, he saw the faint blush decorating her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, and the tips of her cute little ears. Squaring her shoulders, she led the way back to their study table and started talking a mile a minute about the ethics of harvesting potion materials from living creatures. 

She rambled like this—always about some obscure topic—when she wanted to avoid something, and right now, it was clear that both of them preferred to entirely ignore whatever it was that had just happened.

They sat back down, and Hermione promptly passed her notes his way so he could start his essay while she worked on another project.

Harry kept his head down, looking furtively at the parchment before him, processing exactly zero percent of the information written on it. The words swam before his eyes; all he could think about was the girl across the table from him, brows furrowed in concentration as she studied.

The image followed him all day, and when he went to sleep that night, his dreams revolved around sharp teeth digging into the plump flesh of her bottom lip.

* * *

It started happening more frequently. 

On the day of their Leaving Ceremony, he took her hand to help her into the boats that would take them across the water and almost dropped her when that small, now familiar jolt went through him the moment their skin touched.

Big, bright eyes flew to his, and she froze for a moment with one foot in the boat, one foot on the shore, but she seemed to shake herself out of it. She let him help her in, taking a seat and leaning forward to ask Hagrid if he knew that merrows mated for life.

His focus was shot to hell now, and he was lost to his wandering thoughts, but he didn't mind very much. 

He had found the whole ceremony a bit pointless. 

What was there to celebrate? What had they _truly_ accomplished? For seven years of school, what did they have to show for it? 

Empty chairs at dining tables and patched up walls. Halls full of ghosts and children forced into the crossfire of a war they didn't start.

Portraits instead of people.

Harry was not sad to be leaving Hogwarts.

A soft touch to his knee brought him out of his miserable thoughts, and when his eyes refocused, all he could see was Hermione in front of him, her hair even wilder than usual from the humidity. Her smile was soft and sweet and knowing, like she could see where'd he'd gone in his head and she'd come to gently pull him back.

"Harry?"

As they traversed the final stretch of the lake, she slotted her fingers into his. After that first sharp sting of electricity when they touched, it quickly settled into a low hum, like the purring of a contented cat.

It was nice. Comforting. 

_When are we going to talk about it?_

* * *

She tried to talk to him before he left for Auror training, but he couldn't. 

He needed a clear head to get through the training in one piece. If they talked about it now, he'd still have to leave her, and his concentration would be awful.

He was so worn out at the end of each day that he slept—truly slept, deeply and fully—without nightmares for the first time in years.

They exchanged letters, and he responded when he was able. There was always that feeling of holding back in each correspondence, like something heavy was looming just out of sight. 

If they were going to figure out what was happening to them, he wanted to give it—give _her_ —his full attention.

* * *

Soulmates, she said.

Neither of them had heard much about it previously, but true to form, Hermione had done extensive research while he'd been off at training. She had notes, sources to cite, and textbook excerpts.

 _Soulmates_.

The mere utterance of the word in association with Hermione and himself caused a sweet ache behind his breastbone.

It wasn't shocking or startling.

It wasn't a revelation.

It merely confirmed what he'd known for a very, _very_ long time.

He belonged, body and soul, to Hermione Granger.

When she walked in the room it was like his world lit up, brighter and sharper than it had been before. With the unfortunate playing out of her relationship with Ron, Harry hadn't wanted to further divide their friend group by blurting out that he was mad for her.

There were… moments, a flash in her eye, a touch here, a soft word there, but they were all things that could be explained away by the bond of lifelong friendship.

So that’s what he did: resigned himself to a lifetime of silent pining.

But now… 

She explained the basics of soulmate magic, then kept going, fingers tapping on the table in time with her nerves as she said what he’d longed to hear but had never dared to hope for.

He wasn’t alone in his feelings.

The windows behind Hermione illuminated her with a heavenly light, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe, vision softening around the edges. When he realised she was waiting for a response, he stood, pushing his chair back with a harsh scrape against the wooden floor, walking around the small table, and taking her hand.

He didn’t have words—he was never very good at expressing himself—so he lifted his hand achingly slowly to cup her face, instead, giving her time to pull away or tell him no.

She smiled, so pretty it hurt, and nodded at him, dark eyelashes fluttering closed as he pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her. A sigh left them both when that tingle of magic flitted through them on contact.

It was slow and sweet, everything he’d imagined in his teenage fantasies and more. Her small hands slid over his shoulders, fingertips pressing into the fabric of his shirt as he pulled back, brushing his lips over each eyelid, her cheekbones, her chin, the tip of her nose.

He wanted to savour this, to hold onto this drop of light in his life, this promise of something starting to grow.

He stayed for dinner, and they watched a black and white movie that she quoted by heart; nothing more happened than them holding each other, cuddling on the couch, and it was perfect.

* * *

They spent every free moment over the next few weeks in each other’s company—which wasn't often with her schedule and his new assignment. They were dedicated to getting to know each other. _Again._

Their history was there, of course. Their friendship had been forged in fire, and they probably knew each other better than anyone else, but it was different in the light of their discovery and subsequent reveal of hidden feelings. 

He wanted to woo her, sweep her off her feet, _romance_ her like the heroines in the small, paperback novels he’d seen her reading a few times over the years, a blush occasionally staining her cheeks as her eyes furiously swept across the page.

When their schedules matched up and they miraculously had the same day off, they went on dates—to museums, to the sea, home to Hermione’s flat with her favourite takeaway and an old movie. 

They moved slowly, learning each other, holding hands and stealing kisses. 

There was no reason to rush—they had a lifetime for that—and he wanted her to set the pace. He wouldn’t push or do anything that might disrupt the little bubble of happiness they’d found. And while he sometimes got himself off with her image dancing through his mind, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her, to do _with_ her, what he felt for her went far beyond the physical; he knew without a shadow of a doubt that when they finally did come together, it would be even sweeter for the wait.

On a Friday in October, they went to a concert in Hyde Park, and when they got home, they were barely inside before she pushed him back against the door and kissed him like she thought he might disappear at any moment.

She was voracious, and he loved it. Loved the way her fingernails scraped his scalp as she played with his hair. Loved the way she curled one leg around his hip, prompting him to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, setting her down and kneeling to unzip her boots, letting them fall to the floor with a _thump_.

When they’d left for the park that afternoon, she’d thrown on a worn-out leather jacket to ward off the fall chill, and now, she let it slide down her shoulders and fall on the floor, revealing some soft, little shirt with lace decorating the bottom that left her midriff bare above the jeans clinging tightly to her hips.

That expanse of skin called to him, and he stood, hands sliding to either side of her waist as he feathered his thumbs over her belly, tugging her to him until they were chest to chest. 

He could feel nearly every inch of her against him.

This close, she had to tilt her head and push up on her toes to kiss along his jaw. He could see the freckles dotting her skin as she pulled back and looked up at him with those big, bright eyes, saying, “Hi.”

It brought a smile to his face. “Hi.”

Letting her forehead rest against his chest, she breathed deeply. “Mmm. You smell good.”

Shifting his grip so he could twine his arms around her back, he buried his face in her hair, soaking in the scent of citrus and cinnamon in the thick, buoyant curls.

“But you’re wearing far too many clothes.” She slid her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, startling him.

“Jesus, Hermione. Your hands are freezing.” Catching her wrists, he wrapped his hands around her small, freezing ones, cupping them and bringing them close to his mouth to warm them up. 

“You _are_ a wizard, you know.” A smirk tugged up one corner of her mouth. “You could do that with magic.”

Dragging his lips over her knuckles, he swept his tongue out to taste her skin, barely suppressing a chuckle when her eyes went even wider.

“But I like doing it this way. It’s far more fun, don’t you think?” Gently pulling her fingers apart, he pressed a warm kiss to her palm, then her wrist, savouring the softness of her skin beneath his lips.

He reached her neck, kissing and sucking at her pulse point, letting her increasingly needy whimpers guide him to the tender spot below her ear that made her melt against him.

This time when she swept her hands under his shirt, they were pleasantly warm, and he groaned at the feeling of her fingers exploring his stomach and chest, pushing the shirt up to his shoulders before he tugged it over and off his head.

Hermione just looked at him for a while, a hungry glint in her eyes he’d never seen pointed at him before. Raising her hand, she flicked her thumb over his nipple, a pleased smile curving her lips as she pulled a hiss from him, stepping back all too soon.

“Tease,” he growled. 

She merely grinned at him as her fingers deftly undid the buttons on her jeans, shimmying out of the tight denim in a way that brought his attention to her chest. She clearly had nothing on beneath the shirt; her nipples formed hard peaks, poking against the fabric.

She stood before him in that paper-thin shirt and her knickers, all sweet curves and a sassy smile.

“Your turn.” That grin on her face only grew as he took off his jeans, carefully peeling them over his aching cock, already painfully hard for her.

A hint of alarm coloured her expression as he kicked the jeans away, her eyes entirely focused on what he’d just revealed. One corner of his mouth kicked up, affection warming his chest.

"Relax, sweetheart. Didn't you say that we were made for each other? It'll be fine." When she said nothing, eyes flicking between his face and the bulge in his pants, he stepped forward and palmed her jaw as his thumb stroked over her cheek. "And if it's not, you tell me and I'll stop. Okay? We won't do anything you aren't comfortable with."

Her initial hesitance had him ready to slow down, but something mischievous twinkled in her eye as she nodded. “Okay.” Promptly trailing her hand down his stomach and past his hips, her fingers gently squeezed his cock, showing him just how _okay_ she was.

“Fuck," he ground out.

A squeak fell from her lips when he grabbed her without warning, laying her back on the bed and climbing over her. Holding her head between his palms, he kissed her with all the pent up longing he had been holding in. 

She was _perfect._

Her lips tasted faintly of the champagne she’d had earlier at the park, sweet and light, and he couldn’t get enough of her mouth. Pleased when she opened to him with very little prodding, his tongue swirled in to dance with hers.

Her hips started to move, and as good as it felt to simply grind against her, he wanted to taste her, wanted to take his time with her.

Shuffling back, he tore off his remaining clothing and meandered his way down her body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses across her ribs, down her stomach, from one hip bone to the other.

She started getting restless by the time he reached her thighs, clenching and unclenching her fingers in the sheets, so he snagged her hands, threading his fingers through hers and pressing them into the mattress to give her something to hold onto.

“Patience, love. We’ve got plenty of time.” He glanced up, and in the fading sunlight, her teeth shone brightly as they dug into her plump bottom lip. Her chest rose and fell unsteadily, her cheeks stained a deep pink.

Tugging her knickers down and off, he nipped at her inner thigh, dipping between her legs to taste her, pleased at the little gasp she gave as he let his tongue drag over her soft folds. She was warm and already wet under his mouth, but her thighs shook with tension he wanted to wring out of her and he needed his arms free to do it.

Unlacing their fingers, he circled her wrists and pressed them down. "Can you keep them here?"

Her resulting nod made her hair bounce around her head.

"Good girl." As he spoke, her eyes went dark with desire.

Focusing entirely on her pleasure, he used his mouth and hands to push her higher and higher until she was pliant and shattering beneath him, pulsing around his fingers.

He kept going, pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb rubbed tight circles on her clit. Panting now, she looked skeptical as she said, "I don't think I can come—" 

She abruptly cut herself off and stilled, her entire body one taut line of tension until a scrape of his teeth made her come again— _hard_ —a small cry falling from her lips.

This time, when he kept going, letting her ride out the end of her orgasm while stoking another, she whimpered, both hands flying to wrap around his wrist.

Clicking his tongue, he shook his head. “Did I say you could move your hands? I don’t think I did,” he crooned.

"Harry, It's too much. I can't… please."

"I think you can, love.” He stroked his fingers slowly in and out. “Don't you want to be good for me?" 

Defiance flashed on her face for a moment, and he thought she was going to fight him, but then it melted into something else entirely, and she released his arm, this time lifting her hands over her head, the fingers of her left hand wrapped around her right wrist as if it were the only thing grounding her to the Earth. 

"Such a good girl, Hermione. So fucking good." She kept her gaze tight on him, the desperate heat in her eyes threatening to set him aflame.

She was so wound up it wouldn't take much to send her over the edge, so he kept his touch light, brushing back and forth over her swollen little bundle of nerves.

Pleading cries spilled from her lips as she rambled, one long jumble of words, cycling between begging for more and begging for the torment to end. Still thrusting his fingers in and out, he leaned up to catch her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sliding his hand beneath the fabric of her top and plucking lightly.

Voice breathy from exertion, she whispered, "Harder, _please."_

He obliged, pinching tighter, and suddenly, she _screamed_ , her entire body shaking as she came apart for a third time. Harry was glad he'd thrown up silencing wards.

She was absolutely stunning in her release, and he decided he could watch her break apart every day for the rest of his life—tits shaking in that cute little shirt—and it would never be enough.

He was painfully hard, but she needed a break, so he brought her some water, and held her against his chest, stroking her hair.

After a few minutes, she started to rouse and got restless, wriggling around until his cock fit between the folds of her cunt and she could glide back and forth along his shaft, never sinking onto it, just dripping and sliding back and forth over the top. 

She glowed, like a goddess in his lap, impatient and taking what she wanted while the last vestiges of the sun made her curls shine.

He was all hers in that moment, and he couldn't believe it.

He also couldn't wait a single second longer. 

Shifting, he flipped her onto her back and knelt over her, spreading her thighs and lifting them to rest atop his. Their eyes connected, and he slid his hands to her waist, pulling her hips off the bed and sinking into her just a bit. 

The pale beams of twilight spilling from the window lay like ribbons on their skin, softening the edges of the world. Her hand came up to grasp his wrist, this time not to stop his movements, but like she just wanted to hold him, and his heart gave a squeeze at the tender gesture. 

His focus narrowed to the two of them, to this moment and their connection, her skin against his.

Watching her face intently, he gave her time to adjust to him, waiting for the pinched line between her brows to smooth out. When her breathing was a bit more steady and she nodded at him, a tired smile on her face, he pushed forward, a groan rumbling in his chest as her inner muscles tightened around him. 

It was his turn to ramble as his thrusts sped up, and he babbled nonsensical praise for her, telling her how perfect she was—so good and beautiful and _his._

He'd known he wasn't going to last long, and he quickly found his own peak, spilling inside her with her name on his lips.

In the still, quiet moments that followed, he folded his body over hers and nuzzled into her neck, nearly purring as she ran her fingers gently through his hair.

When she released a disgruntled sigh, he pulled back to peer down at her. "What is it?"

"Oh, I was just thinking how we could have been doing this a lot sooner if we'd just been honest with each other. So much wasted potential."

"Potential mind-blowing orgasms?" he asked with a grin. 

She huffed out a laugh. "Yes, especially that." 

Twisting, he flipped them onto their sides, pulling a giggle from her when he snuggled up against her like a cat and rested his head on her chest.

The soothing touch of her fingers gently scratching at his scalp was the last thing he felt before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> To my recipient, I hope you enjoyed this harmony sexy time! I love any chance to write these two together, and I had so much fun working on this <3
> 
> My endless love and thanks to [dreamsofdramione.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/dreamsofdramione) She is a world class alpha/beta and I'm so grateful she helped me with this fic!
> 
> This one-shot is stand alone but there will be a smutty part 2 because I really want these two to explore new things together.
> 
> If you're on tumblr, come say hi! I post fic stuff and the occasional fanart @nuclearnik


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